


All I do for you.

by CreamcheeseBagel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Depressed Peter Parker, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter, Poor Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, aunt may is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreamcheeseBagel/pseuds/CreamcheeseBagel
Summary: Spiderman isn't just a masked vigilante- he's a scared fifteen year old trying to put dinner on the table for his Aunt May.Rated Mature for scenes of violence.





	1. A toast for staying alive.

Peter slid backwards ducking beneath the blur of a blade, he blinked rapidly behind his mask skipping further backwards to relative safety. The masked thug before him staggered forward, pin pricks of rage burning through the holes torn in the mask. The man gave a guttural groan through the cloth and rushed forwards, swiping his arms outwards as Peter leapt from the path and flattened himself to an alleyway wall, the grime sticking to him as effectively as he stuck to the brickwork. The thug snapped his head upwards, watching the red suit climb out of reach. Peter inhaled sharply, his hands and feet splayed against the wall before he unpeeled himself into a jump. Peter’s gloves brushed the opposite wall as the sirens blared into life, the wail bounced around his skull, a white hot flash bursting in small pops behind his eyes. His stomach lurched and a cold sweat prickled in his middle back.  
A police car screeched into the entrance of the alleyway, shunting bin bags and boxes as the blossom of red and blue danced through the alleyway intrusively. The thug threw an arm to his face, hunching away from the intrusion.  
_Payday._ Peter took his window and in a blur of luminosity he chucked himself upon the robber with a shout of unbridled triumph, pride outweighing the heaviness in his stomach. The thug twisted beneath him as they collided, Peter’s heels driving the man’s shoulders backwards. Peter felt as though time as slowed as he watched the man tumbling backwards, his feet following the motion, he pushed himself off the man as he continued to fall, Peter himself landing on his feet reaching his arms to apprehend the man before he collapsed. But the world around him was sluggish as he snatched the man towards himself. A spark erupted behind his eyes, Peter choked as a pain like nothing else tore through his homemade suit, he swiveled his head, and it dragged as though drunk until he blinked owlishly at the blade in his bicep.  
His lips scratched against his mask in a silent scream as he followed the mans painted hand slide down his right arm. The blade of the knife tore a savage, messy, path down his arm. He roared as tendons snapped but the thug continued to saw until the handle became stuck. Both men parted then, like the tide parting from the sand, calm and coordinated. Peter was drunk on the pain, the glint of something protruding from the underside of his elbow, his stitched suit saturated with a deep crimson.  
The pain was almost worse than the wave that assaulted his mind as a police officer shouted for the men to put their hands behind their head. _But I’m a teenager.  
_ But Peter couldn’t obey, his arm wouldn’t move, it hung pissing blood like something from a horror movie he had promised not to watch. _It’s not real._

‘Oi, red idiot, hands on your head!’ The officer bellowed stomping into the alley, his gun cocked. ‘I’m _sick_ of you pyjama freaks!’ he continued, taking a moment to spit without breaking stride. _But, officer, sir, I’m on your side._  
Peter could have sworn the thugs eyes glinted as he knelt before the officer, could almost see the smirk through the fabric he hid behind. The officer flicked his gun, motioning for Peter to follow but nothing made sense. Peter was supposed to be telling the thug to get on his knees, he was meant to hand the man over and swing home to strike a lone mark on his tally board beneath his bed. _I’m Spiderman._  
Blood ran in rivulets down his thigh. Peter spun on his heel, his feet slapping soundlessly as he fled in fear. He gripped the handle of the knife nestled in the crook of his arm and yanked, woozily tossing it aside. Bile filled his mouth and his vision dimmed, a surge of panic spiked adrenaline told him to _duck_ and he obeyed, throwing his head forwards as something whistled overhead. He swallowed the acidic liquid as the bullet tore through a dumpster shoved against the far wall. Peter cried then, miserable and shaking, he clambered onto the overflowing metal, his left hand hauling him upwards and over the lip to freedom. He tumbled onto pavement, a man shouted in surprise. Peter threw his left arm skywards, his right limp and numb, and leaned into the swing of the webbing. His body arched against the speed. He launched up and away from the dazzling, overcrowded street, off kilter he hit rooftops and ran, swinging lopsidedly and desperately when he dare leap the distances.

‘May-May-May’ he chanted religiously, panting beneath his mask with each suicidal swing. He was sweating horrendously, the suit stuck to him, he panted harder, his lungs constricting mid-flight. ‘May-May-May’. His left arm burned with the strain. Peter sobbed loudly, hot salty tears stinging the corners of his eyes. His fingers slipped from the web he swung from, he tumbled through the air with a defeated sigh, bone tired. ‘May!’ he shouted, throwing his arm out before he became outrageously dressed road kill. The webbing wrapped around a familiar tree line and Peter felt the sigh shudder through him as Aunt May’s apartment complex came into view, with every last ounce of strength Peter could summon, he somersaulted over the building, landing a perfect one-armed super hero crouch upon the roof. It would have been impressive had Peter not collapsed straight after, his chest striking the flat surface as anchored.  
Peter didn’t know how long he stayed face first on the roof, breathing doggedly into his mask, too drained to rip it off. The crisp night air was still inky enough for him to crawl to the edge of the roof lip and roll off without fear of a concerned neighbour making a saving catch. Peter scuttled, three limbed, down the backside of the building, his feet finding the iron stairwell that belonged to his window.

‘Home sweet home’ Peter laughed softly, guilty but grateful his first endeavour into the world of low-life criminals was at an end, as he slid the window upwards and nimbly climbed over his desk and into his bedroom, slumping onto the floor. He breathed deeply into the sticky floorboards, a faint smell of socks and spoiled milkshake greeting him. Peter slowly pulled the grimy mask from his face and tossed it beneath the bed. He flexed his right hand and winced at the pins and needles that raced up the flesh. Spying that his right arm was freshly pink, Peter unpeeled the suit from his body and that too joined the mess beneath his bunk bed.  
Peter remained crumpled on his bedroom floor, crying a small puddle as the exhaustion rolled over him. That low-life thug had a small bounty that would have bought him a month’s shopping for his Aunt May. He screwed his eyes shut, his stomach growling, his hipbones grazing through his boxers. Breadwinner he was not. Peter promised himself that he would push himself further the following weekend to fill their stomachs as he swirled the drain of sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter woke groggily, his neck stiff from his romp on the floor. He got to his feet yawning into his hands. He rolled his right arm in the socket, staring in sick fascination at the small white scar in the crook of his elbow.  
‘Peter?’ Aunt May called from within the apartment. Peter’s chest filled with warmth at her muffled call and he tore from his room, jogging into the open planned kitchen. Aunt May spun round with a plate of toast, her smile growing as her sleep tousled nephew skidded into the lounge, an equally goofy smile matching her own.  
Peter sat before his Aunt at the breakfast counter, May slid the plate between them and leant into the counter, arms folded. Something about Peter’s thinning smile told her not to question the dark circles beneath his eyes, at least not yet.

‘Toast, sweetie?’ she questioned, nudging the plate closer to Peter. He secretly looked past her shoulder at the cupboard accidentally left open, counted the three soups tins and waved the question away.

‘Oh, well, I had pizza with Ned last night and let me tell you, I think I still have a food baby!’

‘Oh yeah?’ May laughed, raising an eyebrow before stealing a slice of toast. Three buttered slices remained. Peter let his Aunt take another before he rebelled against his stomach and swiped his own, crunching into the buttery goodness. His over-eager metabolism had been previously eating the pair out of house and home, and the cupboards had never been full to begin with. Peter felt guilty finishing the second slice, but May watched him as though he was the most precious thing she had ever seen. ‘I’m glad we shared breakfast’ May continued, mussing Peters hair playfully, ‘I need to do a grocery shop this evening, any requests? I got a few tips last night, so shoot!’  
Peter choked on the last of the crumbs, thumping his chest madly. He swallowed the lump and plastered a smile onto his face. His mind briefly jumping to police sirens flashing sporadically in the gloom of the alley.

‘Maybe some orange juice, please’ Peter offered, knowing full well he would need to keep his sugar up. ‘But, apart from that, I’m good! I get my free school lunch tomorrow and I’m pretty pregnant right now’

‘You’re so gross, Peter’ Aunt May scoffed, turning to scribble on her shopping list and pocketing it. ‘This is for you, by the way. A little treat’ May spun round, slapping a few crumpled notes on the counter top, ‘for some chocolate, or sweets, or whatever it is you kids eat now-a-days. I hear hummus is the new in thing’ she teased, nodding at Peter to take the change.

‘May’ Peter started, but his Aunts head shaking shut that conversation down.

May moved around the counter, plucking her satchel from the sofa, she planted a kiss on her nephew’s cheek and flicked her hair over her shoulder with a confident smile. ‘Well, I start at nine so I’ve got to run! Now you be good’ she winked, kicking a pair of sandals on, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. I’ll be back at ten, oh and don’t forget that chocolate’.

‘Bye May, have a lovely day’ Peter called after his Aunt as her sandals slapped down the hallway, ‘love you!’

‘I love you more!’ May’s voice floated back before the front door slammed shut. Peter sat in the sudden silence awkwardly, he curled around the breakfast bar, resting his head in his arms and closing his eyes to the hunger pains. He mentally penciled in his schedule; suit up and buy May some of her own damn chocolate to enjoy.


	2. Not a walk in the park.

‘Suit up! Yeah right!' Peter huffed, holding his ruined suit at an arm’s length and scowling. He bundled the ripped jumpsuit into a ball and kicked it beneath the bed, and stuffed its replacement into his backpack. Said replacement had once been a Christmas present; an outlandishly red jumper and red jogging bottoms, both too short now but big enough he could squeeze an extra layer underneath for protection. Peter gently placed the mask atop the two piece. The mask was his pride and joy, a red fitted ski mask kitted out with goggles to protect his eyes whilst he tore through the sky. It would do the job until he saw Ned and the pair could truly brainstorm.  
Peter patted his jean pockets, triple checking the crumpled notes were safe before shouldering his backpack and setting off for the roof. He clambered upon his desk, pulled the window up, checked the coast was clear, slowly shut the window and scaled upwards against the brickwork.  
By the time Peter reached the roof he was already pulling his disguise over his usual attire and wiping dirt from his goggles.

Peter left the bag at his feet before running full pelt across the roof. He leapt daringly, a second of free fall before he was pulled upwards and along by his engineered webbing. The wind rushed against his jumper and slipped beneath the ankles of his jogging bottoms, his scuffed trainers were the only item that really stayed glued to him as he swung from building to building. His eyes scoped out the tiny people beneath him, meandering about, rushing around. But nothing overtly villainous was taking place in the streets beneath him, no target to be chased, and no bike thieves to apprehend.  
Peter reckoned he had been swinging about the outer city for an hour before he decided to delve deeper into New York, but not quite close enough to where the true heroes played.

‘Cute suit, _red_ , guess I _do_ have fans!’

The voice thundered across the rooftop Peter had momentarily landed on, he yelped in alarm, jumping round with his fists raised. The voice belonged to a burly figure in red laying spread eagled in the sun, a pair of Hello Kitty sunglasses perched upon the taut mask. Peter tiptoed closer.

‘Don’t come any closer, kid. I bit,e’ the man snarled before sighing contently. Peter watched dumbfounded as the man applied a copious amount of sun cream to his masked face and chest, the bottle having being taken from an Adventure Time backpack beside him.

‘Oh hunny, you wouldn’t _believe_ but I _burn_ like a bitch, and I’ve gotta keep my skin looking luscious’.

Peter gulped, his ungloved hands sweaty. ‘Um, excuse me, but you’re wearing your suit-you uh, won’t _tan_ ’.

The man’s head tilted to stare at Peter, the whites of the mask growing wide within the black mesh. He gasped, leaping to his feet, booting his backpack over the rooftop. ‘God fucking dammit!’ he shouted, pointing at Peter, ‘listen here you little shit head, I just stole these shades and now you’re telling me I can’t even use them?’  
Peter raised his hands defensively, backing away from the mess before him. ‘I-uh-I should get going’

‘Hey kid?’ the man continued, placing the sunglasses atop his head, ‘wanna buy some drugs?’

‘What? No!’ Peter screeched, his cheeks growing red. ‘I’m here to fight crime!’

The man nodded, not too discreetly adjusting his trousers. Peter looked everywhere but.

‘Well thanks for not letting me add cancer to well, my cancer’ the man retorted, cracking his neck and groaning. ‘Daddy Deadpool is off to kill some _bad guys_. Now take this,’ the man thrust his hands into the waistband of his trousers before fishing out a wallet and chucking it at Peter’s feet, ‘and go buy yourself some food or something, not drugs though!’ he wagged a finger. ‘Honestly, it was ruining the line of my suit and quite frankly, my boll-‘

‘Excuse me-uh Deadpool? You know where the bad guys are?’ Peter interrupted, a spark of excitement over riding his disgust. ‘I’ve been swinging about and-‘

‘Nope!’ Deadpool shouted, throwing his arms up to form a giant X before giggling to himself. ‘Couldn’t help myself! Anyway kid, my little red riding hood. See that wallet. Yeah. Pick that up and fuck off before I spend it on _more_ cocaine. I’ll run out of floorboards!’

Peter gingerly picked up the warm wallet between his forefinger and thumb, deciding to not go against the wishes of a stranger who clearly needed help. He watched Deadpool limber up, the man cracking his knuckles and arms, and really any joint that could be grinded before leaping from the roof. Peter watched the man vanish, dumbfounded.  
Turning his attention to the wallet, Peter slowly opened it, his eyes growing wide at the notes inside. He pulled one free, ‘Monopoly money?’ he groaned, flicking through all the fake notes. Tossing the wallet away, Peter quickly fired a line of webbing towards a billboard a few buildings away and went with the momentum, his stomach beginning to ache. He wanted to escape the weirdness as quickly as possible.

 

* * *

 

 

All in all, it had been a quiet Sunday Peter reflected from his perch upon an apartment complex. He swung his legs over the edge of the roof, slowly savouring the chocolate bar melting in his fingers. He’d debated for half an hour before finally giving in and buying the small bar, too riled up to waste the change his Aunt had so painstakingly worked for, it would have been an insult not to spend it. So Peter sat, almost groaning as he popped another small piece into his mouth.  
His first real night of being a friendly neighbourhood super hero had failed spectacularly, and his second full day was so empty Peter got up to make his way home. He pulled the mask down and tucked the half empty bar into his pocket for later.

As Peter begun to turn, the hair on his arms rose and his flesh prickled. He turned around, his heart beating quickly, his tinted gaze swivelling. A small cry punctuated the evening and Peter followed it. He leapt from the roof, swinging his way to the street below. A few people moved away from him as he landed and raced towards the park.  
More civilians streamed from the gated entrance.  
‘You’re okay-I’m here-Spiderman is here to help-hey-that’s my foot!’ Peter called, snaking his way through the jostling crowd.

A roar rose up and Peter baulked at the green body suddenly scuttling towards him, its clawed feet crushed a man’s head as it surged forwards, a metallic tail swishing excitably. The tail arched, swiping at Peter before the green creature was even within an arm’s length.  Peter cried out as a metallic barb effortlessly sliced through his jumper, tearing his chest open.

‘No!’ Peter gasped, stumbling backwards, his hands scrabbling to stop the bleeding. ‘What-who’

The creature leapt upon Peter, its metallic tail seizing his ankles in a vice. It jabbered and howled in a deep male voice as its tail spun Peter around, dragging him through bushes and dirt before slamming him into a tree. Peter spluttered as the air left his lungs. His head lolled against the bark, his left eye screwed shut in pain. The world was spinning around him. He moaned as he was yanked upwards to dangle upside down, a heavy fist slamming into his head with every swing.  
Peter punched back, his fist collided with the creature’s masked face. He suddenly dropped as the tail released him, the green mass jumping away in a full body crouch.

‘Don’t puke,’ Peter whispered, his hands curled into claws. ‘Breathe-just a scary lizard man-breathe’

‘Hey! Arsehole! Pick on someone your own size!’

Peters head snapped up as an arrow sprouted from the monsters chest. It tore it out with a bellow, its tail ripping through trees like a knife through butter.  
A blur of blonde and black dove through the things legs, hands seizing its head. A rough hand pulled Peter to his feet and he was spun round to stare stupidly up into Hawkeye’s frowning face.

‘Naps times over. Go home kid’ Hawkeye snapped, shoving Peter away to notch a second arrow.

‘But?’ Peter slurred, watching in awe as Black Widow snaked around the monsters body, stabbing and slashing, leaping away at the last moment. She landed in a crouched, back flipping away from a wild punch. ‘Wow’

‘The kid-’ Black Widow called as she landed, and Peter’s stomach did a flip.

Hawkeye let loose his arrow and it exploded against the monsters armoured chest, it roared crashing backwards, tripping on its tail. Black Widow followed it up with a few rounds from a gun Peter was sure she didn’t begin with.  
A projectile escaped the tail with a click, Black Widow ducked beneath it and followed the fleeing criminal. The metal soared over her head and towards her companion. Peter tripped Hawkeye, the man crashing with a curse, and Peter webbed the deadly blade. It fell like a stone with a small hiss.

‘Nice save’ Hawkeye admitted, rolling his neck as he climbed to his feet. He clapped Peter on the shoulder so suddenly the teenager flinched. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Uh-oh-man-‘ Peter blurted, ‘Spiderman!’

Hawkeye raised a brow and smiled thinly. ‘Spiderman, yeah? Okay. Nicer than that other guy in red’

Peter nodded slowly, his legs weak as his chest reknitted before a palm.

‘Shouldn’t you be at home finishing some homework, kid?’

‘Yeah, guess so-’ Peter laughed behind the mask, ‘but there’s a few rewards out and-‘

Hawkeye rolled his eyes. ‘A couple hundred notes is not worth losing your head over’ he scolded, frowning harder. ‘Go get a paper-round or something. Christ. Being a superhero isn’t all about the money, you know?’  
Peter’s mouth fell open. He wasn’t hunting out crime just for the money, not really.

‘I-I’m not!’ Peter pleaded back, his voice wobbling. ‘I help out loads of people when I can! Like I saved a cat the other day, and a man from being run over’ Peter could feel his cheeks glowing. ‘I just, I don’t know. Want to take on bigger fish. Help out’. He hung his head in shame, no longer hungry. _I w_ _ant to earn some money to help out Aunt May._

Hawkeye sucked his teeth and shouldered his bow. ‘Hey kid, I get what you mean. It’s nice to get a reward once in a while,’ Peter looked up. ‘I’ve got a friend who might be interested in meeting you sometime,’ Peter’s eyes went wide. ‘I’ll see you about,’ and with that Hawkeye strode off, a hand to his ear, continuing a conversation Peter couldn’t hear.

  
Peter’s heart felt full, a warm glow in his chest. ‘Yeah, see you around, Mr Hawkeye’ he whispered, trembling with excitement.


End file.
